There are times, incredibly rare times, when I am rendered speechless. As an EMT and just generally low-key ex-Minnesotan, most things do not shock me nor do they even cause me to register much in the way of major emotion. And even in times of great duress I tend to hold it inside, not giving a whole lot of information to the world at large that would indicate that I am flabbergasted, upset, or even just stunned.
So the boys missed me, really missed me. I could tell because my older one just about executed a double leg takedown when he ran in the front door, slammed into me, and hugged me as tightly as one can be hugged. The littler one gives a more fleeting kind of love, like little hugs and kisses, "I missed you, Mom!"s, and attempts to get his hand on a breast. All day today we just hung out, talking and snuggling and looking at pictures from camp.
Apparently while I was gone my elder son developed some kind of soreness in his ass. Maybe because his poops are the size of anacondas, I'm thinking. Anyway, after lunch we were just talking and he dropped his pants, opened his butt cheeks, and had me check it out. It was so casual, yet so abrupt that I was kind of disoriented for a moment. A moment was all it lasted because after the drive-by anusing he was on to something else. Leaving me to ruminate on the nature of motherhood, which for me today involved looking fleetingly into someone else's bunghole. One of those times when it behooves a person to have a solid poker face, I guess.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Girly Girl
Well, I'm back from the Grapply, and what a week it was! The sport is amazing, the instructors ruled, the company was fine, and the bonding was bound. I can't say how nice it was to be in the presence of a whole bunch of other women that:
1) Also have muscles. I was not the only one with veiny veins on the pythons. Actually my pythons paled in comparison to others. Abs were more common than not. Though I still believe that, in an ab-off, I could take most on definition. I will cling to that until they pry my cold dead fingers from my still-ripped rigor mortis having abs.
2) Love jiu jitsu. Uncommon sport for women, but we are no less affected by the BJJ passion that infects those who roll. I could actually relive awesome (and more commonly for me, humiliating) jiu jitsu moments and not receive blank stares. In fact, it would often lead to a live re-enactment of the scenario.
3) Hug by submission. It may have happened more than once that affection was shown by rear naked choke, or by a double leg takedown. I really feel that kind of love. It's like a sonnet, but with less blood to your head.
4) Are not afraid to embrace the sick and twisted. Some spectacularly crude moments were had. I feel that at times we rivaled a phalanx of marines. The amount of pride I feel in that is not small. We had moments that were epic, legion, and probably even awe-inspiring, crassness-wise. I'm just going to say that Two Frogs, One Cup was possibly one of the greatest moments of my life.
It would be name dropping and obnoxious to say a whole bunch about the world-class instructors at the camp, but one thing I liked most of all about them was that they're just regular, albeit incredibly dedicated and talented, nice people. All in all one of the best experiences of my life. More posts to come, mainly about the general hilariousness of girl-specific sports bonding activities (and yes, I participated. Maybe even got a little teary once or twice. That's the nature of the girly bonding, people.).
1) Also have muscles. I was not the only one with veiny veins on the pythons. Actually my pythons paled in comparison to others. Abs were more common than not. Though I still believe that, in an ab-off, I could take most on definition. I will cling to that until they pry my cold dead fingers from my still-ripped rigor mortis having abs.
2) Love jiu jitsu. Uncommon sport for women, but we are no less affected by the BJJ passion that infects those who roll. I could actually relive awesome (and more commonly for me, humiliating) jiu jitsu moments and not receive blank stares. In fact, it would often lead to a live re-enactment of the scenario.
3) Hug by submission. It may have happened more than once that affection was shown by rear naked choke, or by a double leg takedown. I really feel that kind of love. It's like a sonnet, but with less blood to your head.
4) Are not afraid to embrace the sick and twisted. Some spectacularly crude moments were had. I feel that at times we rivaled a phalanx of marines. The amount of pride I feel in that is not small. We had moments that were epic, legion, and probably even awe-inspiring, crassness-wise. I'm just going to say that Two Frogs, One Cup was possibly one of the greatest moments of my life.
It would be name dropping and obnoxious to say a whole bunch about the world-class instructors at the camp, but one thing I liked most of all about them was that they're just regular, albeit incredibly dedicated and talented, nice people. All in all one of the best experiences of my life. More posts to come, mainly about the general hilariousness of girl-specific sports bonding activities (and yes, I participated. Maybe even got a little teary once or twice. That's the nature of the girly bonding, people.).
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Here We Come
I'm off to California, folks, for a tournament and week of all-women-grappling. That's right, I'm going to camp. Jiu jitsu camp, girls only. Could I be more excited? The answer is no. I'm not sure if I'm doing the tournament or not, since I've never actually seen a competition in this sport and don't really know the rules, but we'll see once I get there. I might get inspired and feel like I have to kick some ass. Or I might just watch and learn, hard to say. Either way, all next week I will be grappling with some of the best women in the US, totally not including myself in that category because I'm more like a non-good beginning grappler. Anyway, I'm off, and may or may not have things to write about while I'm out there.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Unplugged
Not to be a blog of total mom-relates-kid-funnies-that-are-only-funny-to-her, but we just seem to be on a roll over here. Maybe 6 and 9 are exceptionally cute ages or something, aside from the constant butt and undies commentary from 6 and newly stinky pits of 9 (source of great pride, by the way, rather than source of wanting to shower, unfortunately). Anyway, my kids are both into music, big time, and have more pop cultural awareness than I already. Of course that's not saying much because I am truly among the least cool people ever when it comes to stuff like that. I never know the newest artist, or even the old washed up ones. I've always been like that. As a teen I took steps to rectify it or hide it but now I just bask in the dorkiness. Now if we're talking about Guy Noir vs. This American Life I have all kinds of opinions. Once again, I digress.
Older son and I were talking about a song we both like, I'm not admitting it because it's embarrassing even to me which says a lot, and I said something about the guitar part, since he plays electric guitar. Littler dude, never wanting to be left out, said he liked it too. Then he asked, "Mom, is it atouskit? Or with amps?" Older son and I exchanged conspiratorial glances, and I snuggled the little dude extra hard for his cuteness.
Another recent cuteness--there's a song called Replay out right now that my kids sing incessantly. I've never heard it because it's not on NPR but anyway it's quite popular I guess. I was kind of confused one day because what they were singing sounded a little weird, so I went and looked up the lyrics. As I suspected, they were not "....like an eyeball stuck to a plate", but were in fact ".....like an ipod stuck on replay". Made much more sense the second way, though the first has a certain imagery that I find compelling.
Older son and I were talking about a song we both like, I'm not admitting it because it's embarrassing even to me which says a lot, and I said something about the guitar part, since he plays electric guitar. Littler dude, never wanting to be left out, said he liked it too. Then he asked, "Mom, is it atouskit? Or with amps?" Older son and I exchanged conspiratorial glances, and I snuggled the little dude extra hard for his cuteness.
Another recent cuteness--there's a song called Replay out right now that my kids sing incessantly. I've never heard it because it's not on NPR but anyway it's quite popular I guess. I was kind of confused one day because what they were singing sounded a little weird, so I went and looked up the lyrics. As I suspected, they were not "....like an eyeball stuck to a plate", but were in fact ".....like an ipod stuck on replay". Made much more sense the second way, though the first has a certain imagery that I find compelling.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Coulombs
My kids go to a Montessori school, where they learn techniques to bring about harmony and world peace in addition to eating whole grains. They also make found art (garbage, usually, painted or modge-podged into artistic submission) and learn about ways to save water and eliminate malaria in the third world. So the other day when I picked them up, they were full to bursting with anecdotes from the day, as usual. Younger son was telling me about this kid in his class, Nature Ravenstar, who was totally in trouble because he broke school rule number five. And since the school only has five rules, number five is kind of the major pinnacle rule, I guess. So old Nature Ravenstar, he was in the bathroom doing something that was outside of the scope of general crunchiness, and a teacher had to redirect and then of course tell N.R. how that made her feel, and that's when all hell broke loose and he stomped all over #5. Apparently he said some pretty heated things.
"He broke school rule number five," said the littler dude, eyes wide, sincerely aghast.
"What's rule five?" I ask.
"He used charged language, Mom."
"He broke school rule number five," said the littler dude, eyes wide, sincerely aghast.
"What's rule five?" I ask.
"He used charged language, Mom."
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Can Can
My sister was exposed recently to an epicurian delight that she had never seen before. It was creamed tuna, in a bread bowl. She called me right away, pretty upset about it. Actually she said it was the most disgusting thing she had ever heard of, and that it had peas which personally offend her to the point that she made up false pea-induced symptoms as a child in order to avoid eating them. It led me to think of another really disgusting thing I've heard of but never eaten which is creamed chipped beef on toast. I believe some call it shit on a shingle, which is probably just about right, name-wise. It sounds like shit, but the shingle part is more metaphorical because toast is not like shingles, either roofing or zoster.
Anyway, over the past few days I've been thinking a little bit about the versatility of the creamed tuna in a bread bowl, and I really feel like it could take so many forms. Like it could be Chinese creamed tuna, just add water chestnuts, and serve in a crunchy lo-mein noodle nest. Or it could be fancy creamed tuna, if you added Gruyere and capers and served it in a brioche bowl. See where I'm going with this? Basically the sky is the limit, creamed tuna-wise. It could be more regional creamed tuna, if you added a little hot sauce and served it in biscuit bowls, or even breakfast creamed tuna if you sprinkled cornflakes on top for crunch.
As a disclaimer I've never had creamed tuna, nor have I seen it but I suspect it might not be something too appetizing, maybe along the lines of Indian pudding which looks like baby diarrhea. I'm thinking creamed tuna would be more vomit-like in appearance, though.
Anyway, over the past few days I've been thinking a little bit about the versatility of the creamed tuna in a bread bowl, and I really feel like it could take so many forms. Like it could be Chinese creamed tuna, just add water chestnuts, and serve in a crunchy lo-mein noodle nest. Or it could be fancy creamed tuna, if you added Gruyere and capers and served it in a brioche bowl. See where I'm going with this? Basically the sky is the limit, creamed tuna-wise. It could be more regional creamed tuna, if you added a little hot sauce and served it in biscuit bowls, or even breakfast creamed tuna if you sprinkled cornflakes on top for crunch.
As a disclaimer I've never had creamed tuna, nor have I seen it but I suspect it might not be something too appetizing, maybe along the lines of Indian pudding which looks like baby diarrhea. I'm thinking creamed tuna would be more vomit-like in appearance, though.
Monday, January 11, 2010
OrnaMental
When I go to either coast I'm reminded of how.....special the Midwest is, full of wholesome people with good potluck skills. And every now and then I have an experience that could only be had in the states twixt the coasts.
In a few days I will be attending the holiday party for the Emergency Medical Services of the town in which I volunteer. It's to be held at a comedy club, catered by a local steakhouse (one thing about this town: very wealthy, high taxes). I figured that I'd check with someone to see what the dress code might be, because honestly it can be very hard to determine--I've seen pretty formal events attended by sweatpant-wearing people here. No lie, hand to Gaia. So I emailed the event person. Here is what she said:
"The dress code is business casual. Dress pants and a holiday sweater would be just fine!"
My initial reaction to this was a near-comatose state of pre-hilarity as it sunk in. Then I ruptured my abs from laughing, because that is seriously some funny shit. A holiday sweater?! She just threw that in there so casually, like it's normal to talk about holiday sweaters as actual items to be worn. And like people just have them hanging around in their closets, waiting for the day they can bust them out to rock the holiday EMS party. You know that people who wear holiday sweaters also have matching holiday socks, and often wear Christmas baubles for earrings. And a turtleneck, that is a given. And probably pants that cause a camel toe.
I'm still not over it, I'm actually pretty sure this will continue to be funny for at least two more months. And if there were some way that I could wear a holiday sweater in an ironic way that would be awesome but you know someone would sincerely compliment it and be all, "That is one great holiday sweater," removing the irony and thus making me look like a red and green douche muffin.
In a few days I will be attending the holiday party for the Emergency Medical Services of the town in which I volunteer. It's to be held at a comedy club, catered by a local steakhouse (one thing about this town: very wealthy, high taxes). I figured that I'd check with someone to see what the dress code might be, because honestly it can be very hard to determine--I've seen pretty formal events attended by sweatpant-wearing people here. No lie, hand to Gaia. So I emailed the event person. Here is what she said:
"The dress code is business casual. Dress pants and a holiday sweater would be just fine!"
My initial reaction to this was a near-comatose state of pre-hilarity as it sunk in. Then I ruptured my abs from laughing, because that is seriously some funny shit. A holiday sweater?! She just threw that in there so casually, like it's normal to talk about holiday sweaters as actual items to be worn. And like people just have them hanging around in their closets, waiting for the day they can bust them out to rock the holiday EMS party. You know that people who wear holiday sweaters also have matching holiday socks, and often wear Christmas baubles for earrings. And a turtleneck, that is a given. And probably pants that cause a camel toe.
I'm still not over it, I'm actually pretty sure this will continue to be funny for at least two more months. And if there were some way that I could wear a holiday sweater in an ironic way that would be awesome but you know someone would sincerely compliment it and be all, "That is one great holiday sweater," removing the irony and thus making me look like a red and green douche muffin.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Angle Of Incidence
It's the first post of 2010. Very momentous, I'd say. Except that I don't have too much to say, mainly because I've been working on my reflective statement. That's right, I'm reflecting. In order to actually interact with patients, you have to first reflect upon a personal challenge and then reflect on how you handled it. Right now the main reflecting that's happening for me is about why in the fuck I have to do this kind of shit when I'm 34 years old, how I can possibly sum up the main challenges of my life in 3 pages or less, and why I do stuff like this instead of just doing jiu jitsu all the time. Then I gather my wits and say, "Self, you are doing this because you have to. So suck it up and start with the reflecting. Stop being such a pantywaist."
Possible challenges I have come up with as having reflective properties are:
Horses, riding them
Jerry-Springer-like divorce
Continuing to drink my favorite tea even though it unfurls creepily
Getting punched all the time, not crying
Sandwiches, achieving perfection with each double-breaded piece of heaven
Snowblower, starting it (this might not be such a great candidate because each attempt ends in swearing, kicking, and one time tears because that bitch won't start unless a guy pulls her yanker; it would be hard to reflect with so many swears and with no success in the end, plus I think the f-bomb is frowned upon with these kinds of things and there's no way I can talk about that fucking whore of a machine without some colorful language)
Reflecting on reflections
So far that's all I've got but I have to make it awesome so I'll be pouring all of my reflective self into it. Actually that's not true, I'll be dribbling the tiniest portion of myself possible, because reflecting on shit is personal and I don't even know these people on the committee. It's fucked up that they're all, hey, tell us extremely private things and then we'll judge you. Fuckers, I should reflect on that, how I've overcome the bitterness that comes with such a social-barrier destroying request of baring the soul to write a moving essay on how I reflectively handled their probing.
On a related note, I believe I have made the decision to go ahead and do a doctorate. I'm feeling pretty good about it. Long road, though, but since I'm driving I get to decide and also the radio station will be NPR so just deal.
Possible challenges I have come up with as having reflective properties are:
Horses, riding them
Jerry-Springer-like divorce
Continuing to drink my favorite tea even though it unfurls creepily
Getting punched all the time, not crying
Sandwiches, achieving perfection with each double-breaded piece of heaven
Snowblower, starting it (this might not be such a great candidate because each attempt ends in swearing, kicking, and one time tears because that bitch won't start unless a guy pulls her yanker; it would be hard to reflect with so many swears and with no success in the end, plus I think the f-bomb is frowned upon with these kinds of things and there's no way I can talk about that fucking whore of a machine without some colorful language)
Reflecting on reflections
So far that's all I've got but I have to make it awesome so I'll be pouring all of my reflective self into it. Actually that's not true, I'll be dribbling the tiniest portion of myself possible, because reflecting on shit is personal and I don't even know these people on the committee. It's fucked up that they're all, hey, tell us extremely private things and then we'll judge you. Fuckers, I should reflect on that, how I've overcome the bitterness that comes with such a social-barrier destroying request of baring the soul to write a moving essay on how I reflectively handled their probing.
On a related note, I believe I have made the decision to go ahead and do a doctorate. I'm feeling pretty good about it. Long road, though, but since I'm driving I get to decide and also the radio station will be NPR so just deal.
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